


Well respected man

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Fix-It, M/M, Swesson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 01:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11933775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Dean Smith hated mess, and Sam Wesson was definitely a mess.





	Well respected man

**Author's Note:**

> For the Wincest Writing Challenge Songs Challenge
> 
> Prompt: Well Respected Man, The Kooks

Dean Smith hated mess, and Sam Wesson was definitely a mess. 

He looked neat enough on the surface, the smooth lines of the hideous yellow shirt lining up with well-fitting pants, always clean and tidy; but Dean could tell that mess lurked just under the surface.

His hands always linger too close to hair that looks just ruffled; papers spill out of his satchel at the slightest provocation, and he always has an air of being not quite on time.

But the biggest potential mess is the upheaval Dean knows that Sam could wreak in his own life; there’s just something about Sam that draws Dean in. Dean’s used to easy, efficient one night stands or well-communicated casual arrangements where both parties are aware of the highly-defined boundaries; but Sam Wesson makes him want to throw that all away and take the kind of chances he’s never succumbed to in his entire life.

Dean tries to analyse it, of course (that’s what he does best). Is it Sam’s ridiculously floppy, pullable hair? Is it the long legs that power through the office on their way to no-doubt-crucial IT call outs? Is it the breadth of his shoulders straining under the ridiculous yellow tshirt?

Dean’s forced to admit, after an evening thinking it through while on his treadmill, that it is all and none of those things. Sam’s allure is all and none of those things; more worryingly it’s the dimples at the corner of Sam’s mouth that one time Dean made him smile; it’s the endearingly earnest way that Sam tries to convince Dean of things; and the fact that Sam seems to be waiting for him at the elevator every evening.

Dean’s unused to feelings like this, and it makes him deeply uncomfortable.

***

Of course that all pales in comparison with how uncomfortable he feels when he finds out that ghosts are real.

He and Sam take stock of the situation in Dean’s clean, efficient apartment; Sam’s loose-limbed sprawl entirely out of place. Dean can barely concentrate on the video they find (Ghostfacers - they might know what they’re talking about but they need better marketing). He knows it’s important, maybe even life-saving, but it doesn’t compete with the reality of Sam. 

Dean usually keeps his affairs out of his home, preferring to conduct them elsewhere so that he can leave when he’s done. So he’s entirely unprepared for Sam to be sitting on one of his dining chairs, spinning about and brushing up against Dean so closely that he can smell the faint tang of Sam’s sweat. 

Dean closes his eyes and counts to ten - an old tried and tested method for when he feels his control slipping - and hopes for the best.

***

It all comes to a head after they take out the ghost. They’re in Dean’s office, sweaty and grimy and covered in not a little blood. Both their emotions are running high; adrenaline is pumping through Dean’s body in a way he hasn’t felt in years (ever, the truthful part of him acknowledges). 

Dean’s terrified; not of the ghost but of the sense of recognition he’d felt while fighting it. He’s frightened of the way he and Sam had moved so easily together, of how Sam seems to slot into holes in his soul he hadn’t even known existed.

He gets the first aid box out, ready to patch Sam up, even though his hands are shaking. Above everything else, he’s even more scared that once he gets his hands on Sam he won’t be able to stop. He looks at the cut on Sam’s cheek; it needs tending but Sam could do it himself, surely?

But Sam doesn’t seem inclined to do so. He’s staring at Dean, as if Dean will disappear if he looks away. There’s wonder in his eyes. Unable to stop himself, Dean feels his hand lift to Sam’s face, wiping gently at the blood to see the cut underneath. 

Sam sighs, softly; Dean can feel the warm breath on his wrist and see his eyelashes fall shut. He’s gorgeous, even rumpled and covered in blood. Sam hisses slightly as the antiseptic wipe meets the cut, and instinctively, Dean moves his hand to cup Sam’s cheek, offering comfort. Slowly, Sam turns his head, pressing a kiss into Dean’s palm.

It’s like a dam breaks. Dean shivers, full-body, curving into Sam; and they crash together, clinging. Sam’s mouth seeks his out with painful inaccuracy, but a second later it’s perfect as their first kiss shoots straight past sweet into frantic. Sam’s hands are on his shoulders, then his arms, then his hips, as he’s manhandled back onto the desk; and he finds Sam’s ass, gripping hard and making Sam grunt.

Dean has a dizzying moment to reflect that it was all heading here all along, right from that first moment in the elevator and throughout their dancing around each other. Despite how different this is from his normal life, it’s a relief to finally let it happen.

He’s shaken out of his contemplation as Sam’s mouth closes on his throat with a sharp bite, surely leaving a mark that will be visible to Dean’s colleagues tomorrow. Dean doesn’t care. He wants to leave bites all over Sam too; make sure everyone knows he’s Dean’s. He reaches up and nips at the spot just under Sam’s jaw, making Sam yelp, and then sucks, hard. Sam seems to like it; his hips grind forward into Dean’s, pushing Dean backwards up the desk.

Dean’s on his back, looking up at Sam above him, that hair falling into his face. He’s unused to being in this position; he’s always topped with other partners and while he desperately wants to make Sam come apart on his cock, he thinks he’d be willing to make an exception for Sam. But they won’t have the time or patience for that now (never mind not having any lube, Dean is not in the habit of having sex in his office). Getting his hands into Sam’s hair, he tugs hard and instructs, “Get your pants down.”

Sam’s only too keen to obey, fumbling first at his own zip and then at Dean’s while Dean continues to pull on his hair and bite at his neck. Within minutes, he can feel Sam’s hard flesh against his own, an incandescent feeling that makes him buck up uncontrollably. Sam likes it too, pushing forward and setting a fast rhythm while ridiculously hot little noises spill from his pretty pink mouth. 

Dean gets one hand back on Sam’s ass, encouraging him to go faster. Adrenalin is still rushing through him, and he feels wild, rutting up mindlessly, with none of the care or sophistication he usually brings to sex. There’s just something about Sam.

It doesn’t take long before both of them are close, breathing heavy into each others mouths and eyes locked together. Dean wraps his legs around Sam’s waist, pulling him even closer, and he only has a moment to reflect that next time, he wants to see all of Sam’s skin; before Sam is shouting, coming all over Dean’s shirt. Sam’s so beautiful, so focused on Dean that it pushes Dean over the edge too, his head slamming back painfully onto the desk.

“Fuck,” Sam mutters, collapsing.

They luxuriate in the feeling for a moment, but it’s not a comfortable enough position for them to stay in for long, much to Dean’s annoyance. (Another first: he never cuddles after sex, but this time he desperately wants to hold Sam in his arms). Sam slides to the floor and pulls Dean down beside him, and they sit shoulder to shoulder, pants still undone, utterly and oddly comfortable with each other.

Sam shifts slightly. “All right. Um. Confession.”

“What?” Dean’s brain is so muddled, so replete, that he’s barely able to focus on getting words out, but he makes an effort.

“Remember those dreams I told you about with the ghosts?”

“Yeah?”

“I was fighting them.”

Dean wonders where this is going. “Okay.”

“With you. We were these, like, hunters, and we were friends. More like brothers, really.”

What an odd thing to say after sex, Dean muses. But he can’t deny the obvious: there is something more between him and Sam than the ordinary, and has been since the minute they laid eyes on each other. Dean’s broken all of his rules for Sam, and fact that he doesn’t care is more telling than anything else.

“We should keep doing this,” Sam continues. “There’s gotta be other ghosts out there. We could help a lot of people.”

It’s the craziest thing Dean’s ever heard. What would they do - steal money to live on, eat crappy food and take stupid risks without health insurance? But it’s also the most perfect thing Dean’s ever heard. The truth is, he’s stifled in this life; in his perfect, sterile apartment and run-of-the-mill, high pressure, boring job. He’s felt more in the last few days than he has in the last few years. 

“Ok.” He turns to look at Sam. “When are we leaving?”

His life is about to get a whole lot messier.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Tumblr](http://soy-em.tumblr.com/).


End file.
